War Cry
by Incarnadine
Summary: SUBJECT TO REWRITE AU. Comedy becomes tragedy as a thoughtless prank goes horribly wrong, leaving one boy dead and another attempting to salvage his life from ruin... reluctantly accepting the help of the kindhearted Lily Evans. SSLE.
1. Prologue: Born In Blood

_Disclaimer: This story is a work of fan fiction. The majority of the characters within are the property of JK Rowling, to whom I apologise profusely. Any original characters are just that – original – and bear no intentional resemblance to persons living or dead, or to the work of any other author._

_Author's Note: This story is **AU**. That means that it deviates from the "canon" HP timeline. It is, however, my intention that the characters should be IC, at least at the beginning of the story. This story is set in the academic year 1975/76, the Marauders' sixth year._

_This is **not** a pleasant story. It features violence, language, extreme emotional pain and other things that make it essentially a rather adult read. If FF did a "15" rating, that's what I'd give this._

_I didn't anticipate writing this story. It's just an idea that suddenly took me over and had to be written. I would like to reassure all readers of **Augurey Song** that I am still working on that story and hopefully its completion date won't suffer too much as a result of this._

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**War Cry**

"_Wars teach us not to love our enemies, but to hate our allies."_

_**W. L. George**_

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_**Prologue**_

_**Born in Blood**_

Guided by wand-light he crept onwards, eyes narrowed and back tensed. He could hear noises up ahead, crashes and thuds and a terrible, inhuman screaming that he had never before heard outside his nightmares. He shivered, but he went on. He was not afraid. He would never be afraid of anything his Gryffindor enemies could come up with. This stupid trick might have scared another lesser person, but it did not affect him.

The passage narrowed and the ceiling lowered as it went on. He fought off claustrophobia, trying to make his _Lumos_ brighter to dispel the feeling that he was packed into a tight underground grave. As he got closer, the sounds became more distinct, and he was conscious of a growing feeling of unease. This did not _sound_ like a joke any longer; the screeches drifting down the passage could not have come from any human throat. It was the hollering of the damned or the tortured; someone driven beyond madness screaming out their soul.

He almost went back. He _would_ have gone back were it not for the memory of Black's face, twisted in a sneer. Were it not for that parting shot, said so dismissively over his shoulder: _If you're not too chicken, Snivelly_. Just the thought of that hated nickname replaced his growing fear with anger, his hesitation with conviction. He held his head a little higher. He was resolute. He was _not_ chicken, and he would not give Black the satisfaction of knowing that he had given up.

It was not far now. He could see a door at the end of the passageway, the door beyond which he would find out _the secret_. The secret that his enemies, the Marauders, did not want him to know. The secret that Black, cursèd Black, had insinuated he did not have the courage to face. It was only a fool who would attempt to keep a secret from a Slytherin; a deluded fool indeed who insulted the daring and fortitude of a Prince. He would prevail, and his victory would be all the sweeter for seeing the surprise on his most hated enemy's face.

And now he was at the door, its handle smooth and cold under his rough-palmed hand. The screams were reverberating round his head; they seemed a part of him. He could almost feel the agony that inspired them. The wordless shouts ran through him, and for a moment he knew what it was to be torn apart from the inside out. He shook his head, fear returning with a vengeance. What could this secret be? It sounded like Dark magic, torture even, but the Marauders were _Gryffindors_, and they did not do such things. It was an illusion. It could only be an illusion.

He twisted the handle and was about to push open the battered wooden door when he heard a shout from behind him. 'Snape!' He turned to see James Potter, yet another enemy, half-running, half-scrambling up the tunnel behind him. Potter's face was illuminated by his wand; he looked as if he had seen a ghost. 'Thank God I caught you in time!' Potter seized hold of his sleeve; he pulled away as if he had been bitten.

'What do you mean, _in time_, Potter?' he sneered, although his fear was increasing with every passing moment.

Potter's eyes were wide with terror. 'Before you opened the door,' he whispered. 'Don't go through it. I don't care what Sirius told you. If you open that door, you'll die. Or worse.' The other boy shivered. _Why?_ _What could be worse than death?_ He didn't take his hand off the door; it would be too like Potter to convince him to give up, simply to have the pleasure of ridiculing him later. But the warnings fed his fear, and the yowls of a beast echoed around inside his head.

'Tell me what's beyond the door.' He tried to sound commanding, in control, but the truth was he had never been in control of any situation with Potter. The other boy was simply too secure in himself to allow Severus to push him off balance. It was a sign of how flustered he must be now that he did not immediately retort with a heated denial. Potter was actually considering his request – his _demand_. That could only mean one thing; there really _was_ danger here. A particularly wretched scream echoed his conclusions, and he suddenly wanted to run as fast as he could, anywhere so long as it was _away from here_.

Potter lowered his eyes and took a deep breath. 'I'm sorry, Remus,' he murmured, so quietly that Severus almost thought he had imagined the words. Then Potter looked straight at him and said, quietly and seriously, 'A werewolf. He's… it's a werewolf. Now come away, Snape, or you'll be killed or cursed, and I honestly don't know which would be worse.'

He stared. 'But Black…'

'Sirius was being an idiot!' Potter snapped. The words were far louder than anything else that had been said; they rang from the tunnel roof. The growls from the next room took on a different tone. They didn't fill his head with agony any more. They weren't howls of pain; they were screams of anger. 'Shit.' Potter went pale. His hand closed over Severus' arm and pulled, all but throwing the Slytherin away from the door. 'Run!'

He didn't need any second bidding. He ran, almost falling over the uneven rocks on the floor of the tunnel. He felt rather than heard the door smash open. The werewolf was coming. He could hear Potter's irregular breathing right behind him, and beyond that, rabid, blood-thirsty growls. His heart was thudding uncontrollably, almost trying to leap out of his chest. Terror gripped him, and he stumbled on stiff legs and nearly fell.

He felt Potter's hand on his back, pushing him onwards, helping him. He didn't stop to wonder why his old enemy should want to save him; he was just grateful that the help was there. He could see the hole at the other end of the tunnel now. Only a few more seconds, only ten more yards and he would be free. He was nearly there, so close to his escape from this living nightmare. He knew that the wolf was very close now, but he could beat it, he knew he could.

There was just the steep slope to go now. He all but threw himself up it, falling to his hands and knees and scrabbling over tree roots towards the night air and freedom. Potter shoved him from behind, and he could feel desperation in that contact. He knew that the wolf was barely feet away; he could hear it, smell it, _feel_ its presence as a doomed mouse senses the eagle's flight. He went cold all over. He and Potter were both damned now.

The pressure of Potter's hand vanished, and he looked behind him, fearing to see the wolf tearing the other boy apart. What he saw almost made him collapse in shock. James Potter was gone, and in his place stood a stag, its antlers lowered threateningly towards the werewolf. _Potter, an Animagus?_ It made sense, suddenly; Black's confident taunts, his sly hints of a 'secret', Potter's almost inaudible whisper. The werewolf… the beast was Lupin.

Potter was trying to herd the wolf away and it wasn't really working. He would be alright, probably; a werewolf could only hurt a human, and Potter wasn't human now. He threw himself onwards, all but crawling out of the narrow hole beneath the root, stones scraping over his legs. His robes were tearing and mud was ingrained into his bleeding palms, but he didn't care. The wolf was distracted behind him and he could _taste _safety – it waited for him just on the other side of the hole.

And then he screamed aloud as pain blossomed through his trailing left leg. It was like no pain he had ever felt before. He knew what it was without having to turn and look; he could feel teeth, too sharp to belong to any natural animal, sinking deep into his flesh, tearing muscle and crunching sinew. His voice fractured as the pain seared through him. His arms, once struggling so desperately, froze still, paralysed by terror and agony. Those teeth belonged only to one creature. The werewolf had got him. He was doomed.

The pain intensified as the wolf dragged him backwards down the slope. He was not screaming any more; he was whimpering, crying, trembling with abject fear. It was going to _eat_ him. He tried to curl in on himself but he couldn't; his fingers couldn't get any purchase on the earth beneath his body. Stones cut his face as he was pulled downwards and his hair caught on tiny fibrous roots, but he was beyond caring.

Suddenly the pressure was released, though he continued to slide downwards for a moment before he managed to seize a rock to steady himself. He looked over his shoulder, almost afraid of what he might see. _As if anything could be worse than what's already happened_. He saw the stag that was Potter fighting the werewolf. One of its antlers had broken in half, but it just kept charging. It was as if the wolf had no idea what to do with this foolishly courageous creature; it was retreating almost from puzzlement.

Severus' mind cleared. He had to escape. Awkwardly, he dragged himself back up the tunnel, draped himself over the root of the Whomping Willow and scraped over rough bark and out onto wet grass. He lay there, panting, tears streaming over his scratched face. He put a hand out to touch his leg and felt a deep, vicious wound; his hand came away positively soaked in blood. He rested his head against the ground and wept. He was cursed now. This would be the last time he could sit under the full moon. He didn't know how long he had, but the curse would be taking hold of him. He howled, and thought that even now he no longer sounded fully human.


	2. Chapter 1: Wanton Disregard

_Author's Notes: In case you needed a reminder, this story is **AU**, but hopefully the characters aren't too OOC. This chapter is Lily's POV. The chapters will probably alternate between Lily and Severus, but there may be other people in there as well. At the moment, my story plan isn't too rigid. And as a warning: this story will contain Peter Pettigrew, and I'm not going to present him as a villain. If you have a problem with that… walk away._

_Review Responses: Tammy: You have to wait for the next chapter to see Snape. But hopefully this is interesting anyway._

_Growlithe: As scary as a real-life stalker would be, I have no problem with you stalking my story… thanks!_

_Melissa Jooty: Yeah, I've always wanted to see a story that explored the "what-ifs" of this prank. But I never found one, so I had to write one myself. Life is cruel…_

_LaLuneNoir: Meg, as always you manage to summarise what I've said more succinctly than I ever could. It's nice to know that I've actually achieved what I set out to do. Your reviews are my oxygen as a writer._

_Outofivanhoe: Well, I'm not cruel enough to leave you on tenterhooks for any longer. Glad you think that my characters were IC, I will attempt to keep them that way._

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_**Chapter One**_

_**Wanton Disregard**_

Lily Evans sat by the fire in the Gryffindor common room with a large steaming mug of hot cocoa, staring absently into the flames. She sighed deeply as she inhaled warm chocolate steam. Insomnia was a curse, she had decided. Her mother had joked that it was because she thought too much; her mind found it impossible to switch off. And maybe that was true. What her mother didn't know – would never know – was _why_ her thoughts would keep her awake.

She was studious, and it was true that she actually thought before she said or did things. She also _tried_ to please the teachers and to get all of her work done on time, and she had been known to scold her friends for their overly lax attitudes to their studies. But it was never schoolwork that kept her awake at night. No, if it was true that she lay sleepless because her mind simply _wouldn't stop_, it would not be for academic reasons.

She was a misfit, pure and simple. She was what some called 'Mudblood', with a sneer on their faces and hatred in their voices, and what others called 'Muggleborn' in tones nearer pity. She had never imagined that just because this new world was filled with wizards and carved by magic it would be any less hard to live in than her 'own' world – the land of Muggles. But that it should be harder – that she should be treated _differently_ for the mere circumstances of her birth – she had not expected that. And over five years of living there had done nothing but take a little of the sting out of it.

She sighed and took a sip of her steaming hot drink, resolving not to think more than she could help. And then the portrait hole was flung wide and James Potter crashed into the common room, unruly hair plastered to his forehead by sweat, his eyes wide as if something unspeakably awful had just happened. Lily shivered at the look on his face; she had never seen her arrogant classmate with any expression other than cheerful cockiness, even when he was bullying the Slytherins. But now… that desperation surely could not be faked, and it scared her.

Potter all but staggered across the common room and collapsed on the hearth rug. He was filthy and sweaty and his robes were bloodstained although he bore no visible wound. And his hazel eyes that she had only ever seen dancing with laughter or narrowed in enmity told their own horrific story. Lily didn't know if she dared to ask what had happened. She didn't think she wanted to know. But she knew that Potter might want to tell her, and if he did, she would listen. She always listened. She never turned anyone away.

'Lily,' he croaked, and she was surprised. Potter had never called her anything other than _Evans_, whether or not he was teasing her. 'I'm glad… someone's here.' She felt a small flood of warmth in her heart. He needed her to be there for him, and so she would be. She could forgive him anything and everything now, having seen him so broken. 'It was terrible.' And she could so easily believe that. His eyes, his face, his completely shattered pride, all combined to tell her that whatever had happened had been terrible.

'You can tell me, James,' she said, his Christian name sounding odd to her ears. 'You can tell me anything. I'm here. It's alright.' And maybe her soothing was more than he deserved, but she had to give it. Not comforting him would be as alien to her nature as hexing him in the back.

He sighed, and Lily thought that it was with relief. 'Sirius…' he moaned. She looked at him sharply. Had something happened to Black, then? She thought of the boys' love of wandering by night and wondered if, perhaps, the monsters of the Forbidden Forest had claimed one of them as a victim. It might be a fitting end for the conceited Marauder, but Lily was not one to wish death even on her worst enemy.

James was speaking again. 'Oh, God, Lily, he's been such a fool,' he all but whimpered. 'He's… he's cursed Snape, and Remus…' He buried his head in his hands. His next words were indistinct, muffled by his fingers. 'Remus… will be destroyed.' And then he cried, unashamedly, allowing tears to course down his face while Lily watched in shock and horror. She couldn't make head or tail out of his dramatic statement. Was it a prank gone horribly wrong? It sounded like something far more sinister than that.

And Remus? Destroyed? She thought of the quietest male Gryffindor with something approaching affection and always had. Why would anyone want to destroy him? What did that have to do with Black 'cursing' Snape? She just didn't _understand_. 'What do you mean, cursed?' she asked, softly, feeling all the while as if her question would be an unwelcome intrusion. She was too sensitive – she knew that, she had been told that – but surely if James needed her to listen he would also need her to understand.

He looked up. 'It won't matter now if I tell you,' he murmured, and he looked as if his world was crashing down around him. 'It'll be all over the school by lunchtime tomorrow. Remus… he was… is… a werewolf.' Lily jolted with surprise. A werewolf? Remus? He had always seemed so gentle, so much less of a beast than his fellows. And then she remembered that a werewolf was only a monster at the full moon, while human beings can be monsters whenever they choose to be.

Her agile mind quickly made the link between this admission and James' previous, indistinct confession. 'You mean that he bit Snape, don't you? He bit Snape and cursed him, and it's somehow Black's fault.' She couldn't call him Sirius. It seemed wrong. She had never liked the boy, and now it seemed that she had been right not to. What sort of a boy endangered his friends so, simply to score points over an enemy?

James looked at her, and she thought that he looked grateful. Grateful that she understood so well without him having to tell her, perhaps. He nodded, weakly, and let out a small sob. 'Yes,' he cried. 'They won't _understand_, Lily, they'll decide that Remus is a threat and they'll send the executioners to _kill_ him! And Snape… he's a greasy Slytherin bastard, but he doesn't deserve this! No one does. I've seen how it hurt Remus… oh, God, Remus.' And he burrowed his face into the hearth rug and sobbed desperately. Lily could hear small choking sounds, and wished she could do something to help him. But she knew that there was nothing she could do. There was nothing anyone could do.

Even Dumbledore couldn't defend a werewolf, especially when that werewolf had already passed on his curse to a human. The Ministry allowed the Headmaster something of a free rein with the school, but they would never turn a blind eye to this. Even if they had tried, surely Snape's parents would never let them. She did not like the Slytherin boy; he was as arrogant as Potter, in his own quiet way. He was excellent at Potions and made up his own spells – he had more power than a sixteen-year-old ought to have, and he was already frighteningly Dark.

But James was _right_; he did not deserve this. _No one deserved this_. Who did Black think he was, to send a fellow student, however despised, to a fate worse than death? She felt an odd mixture of emotions. One of them she knew she had never felt before. Anger she knew, pity she could understand, but this… could it be _hatred_? Could she, Lily Evans, kind, compassionate and forgiving, actually _hate_ another human being? Could she really hate Sirius Black for what he had done so thoughtlessly to his friend and his enemy, neither of which she really knew?

'Where are they now?' she asked the distraught boy by her feet, wanting to distract herself from her uncomfortable emotions. She didn't think that he would be able to face any question more taxing than that.

'Snape's in the hospital wing,' James choked out after a moment. 'I took him there after I stopped… the wolf from eating him.' He let out another heart-rending sob. 'And Remus… the wolf ran away into the Forest.' He sat up and rested his chin on his knees, tears dropping onto his shoes. 'I almost hope that they'll catch him tonight, while he's still mad.' He shuddered. 'I don't want him to be himself when they… when they kill him. I don't want Remus to suffer for what the wolf did to Snape.'

And he sank again into silence, broken only by occasional heaving, hiccupping sobs. Lily stared at him, frozen by pity and pain. She was shocked, too; she would admit that. She had honestly never guessed what Remus was. She thought of the poor boy, betrayed to his death by one he called friend, and she felt angry. There was a rising well of righteous anger in her chest, growing slowly and almost constricting her breathing. She could _feel_ the temper for which she was renowned creeping up on her. She might mourn the quiet boy later, but for now… Sirius Black would be in trouble when next she saw him.

They sat in frozen silence for what seemed like an age. The fire crackled merrily in the background, but Lily was suffused by a terrible chill that no flame could dispel. She watched the moon, round, full and silver against the star-filled black sky. That something so distant and so cold could cause so much pain… She almost wanted to curse the moon for what it had done to Remus, for what it would do to Snape. But cursing the sky would do no one any good; her anger could do nothing to the moon.

Outside there was a horrific howl. James stiffened for a moment, and then his wordless moans became still more desperate and desolate. Lily didn't have to ask him what had happened. She already knew. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. That scream had been – could only have been – Remus Lupin's last utterance on Earth. It seemed that the Ministry had been extremely quick to respond. Lily was stunned beyond misery or grief by the horror and finality of it; by the terrible realisation that tomorrow there really would be one less Gryffindor. Tears sprung unbidden to her eyes. Someone she had known was dead, executed as a monster; how could she be so unfeeling as not to cry?

The sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs leading down from the boys' dormitories changed abruptly into a curse and a series of muffled bumps. Peter Pettigrew landed on the carpet of the common room, his pale eyes filled with apprehension and his hair disordered. James looked up from his disconsolate heap on the floor by the fire and met his friend's eyes. Peter froze; evidently seeing James, whom he idolised, in such a state had shaken him to the core.

'Is that… was that _Moony_, Prongs?' the chubby boy looked fearful, as though he longed for a denial that he knew would not come. 'We shouldn't have left him alone. Why'd we leave him alone, Prongs?' Peter was trembling. It seemed that terror was fighting tears and both were winning.

James spoke through clenched teeth. 'Moony's _dead_, Wormtail.'

'No!' The word was said quietly, but it pierced through Lily like a lance. Peter collapsed back onto the floor. 'No! Not Moony!' The words burst from the short boy in a strangled cry. He was weeping freely now. 'Why? Prongs, why? Moony's not _dangerous_.' This only provoked a fresh wave of tears from the distraught James. Lily felt terribly sorry for Peter, almost as much as she did for Remus. She _knew_ that Peter hero-worshipped both James and Black, and finding out that one of his heroes had murdered his werewolf friend was going to hit him hard.

When James spoke, it wasn't his normal voice. It was a voice that Lily had never heard before, a voice of iron, a hard and uncompromising voice. 'It was Sirius,' he spat. 'Sirius killed Moony.' Peter gasped and nearly choked on his own tears. 'Do you want to know what he did?' James pressed on. He was beyond misery now – he had come out on the other side into full, freezing cold rage. 'Sirius sent Snape to the Shack tonight. That was why he didn't want us to go look after Moony 'til later. He sent _Snape_ down to the fucking _Shack_, knowing perfectly well that the wolf would _kill_ him and _eat_ him.'

'No,' Peter looked as if his world had been ripped from under him and he was trying to grasp onto pieces of it as it spiralled away. 'Padfoot can't have _meant_ to, Prongs. He'd… I mean, I know he hates Snape more than any of us, but I can't believe he'd send him to his death!' Something about Peter's face told Lily that he was not as sure about this statement as he would have liked to be. 'He wouldn't do that to _Moony_, even if he did want to kill Snape!'

James laughed, and Lily thought that she had never heard a less pleasant laugh in her life. 'I thought so too. Seems we were both wrong, Wormtail.' He shivered, despite his proximity to the fire. Peter stood up on unsteady legs and approached his friend uncertainly. James looked up, his hazel eyes filled with pain and anger and _hate_. It was little wonder that Peter recoiled from that gaze. 'Sit down,' James said, hoarsely. 'Sit with me. You and I, Wormtail, we're the only _true_ Marauders left.' Peter looked as if he would much rather run away, but he did as he was bidden. One look at his round face would have torn at anyone's heartstrings.

'What are we going to _do_, Prongs?' Peter's voice was small and pained.

James snarled his answer from behind his teeth. 'I'm going to _kill_ Sirius.' His hazel eyes darkened. Peter leant away from his friend and nearly set his robes on fire. 'Don't be afraid of me, Wormtail.' He spoke more quietly now. 'I – by rights he ought to be expelled. But even if he isn't… we're _never_ speaking to him again. No. Worse. We're going to make him wish he'd never even been _born_.' There was something terrible about his voice, Lily thought. It could be excused by one friend's death and another's betrayal, but she realised in that moment that only a fool would ever cross James Potter.

Peter only nodded. He didn't seem to trust himself to speak. Tears were still running down his face. Moments passed in silence, Lily sitting rigid in her chair, feeling increasingly awkward but incapable of leaving. Remus was _dead_; she couldn't have left the room without feeling as if she was running away from that fact. And she had never been one to run away from unwelcome facts. Peter was quivering in a heap by the fire, letting out occasional moans of deepest misery. And James… James was terrifying. He sat upright, his back poker-straight, staring daggers at the portrait hole, his eyes filled with the pain of betrayal.

They were waiting for Sirius Black. Remus was dead and Snape was cursed, and nothing in the world could change that, but this wouldn't be over until they'd seen Sirius. Something about James' stance left Lily wondering if in this case 'seen' might be synonymous with 'torn limb from limb'.

It seemed as if it had been years since they had taken up this silent vigil; aeons since James Potter had first stumbled into the common room. But finally, outside there was the sound of footsteps. They sounded unsteady, almost drunken. Peter tensed slightly in anticipation, and Lily's hands clenched into fists as her temper rose again. It had to be Black. Who else would be out at such a time of night? Who else would be dragging themselves back to Gryffindor tower in such a state?

The entrance hole opened inwards, slowly and almost reluctantly, as if even the portraits of the school had heard what this young man had done. Sirius Black looked awful, and Lily's anger almost faltered. His fathomless grey eyes reflected the same pain as James' did, but this was worse, because it was mixed not with anger but with self-loathing. And Black looked haunted. Whatever else they said to him, they would not have to convince him of the fact that he was his friend's murderer.

'I wouldn't blame you if you killed me,' he said, and his voice broke halfway through the sentence. He was suffering. Lily felt anger and pity warring within her. Anger won, and coursed through her blood like fire, igniting her senses and fuelling this _hate_. James had stood up as soon as Black had begun to speak, and now he was glaring.

'You deserve worse.' Black flinched as his erstwhile friend spoke, as if every word was a blow. He didn't protest. 'You _killed_ him, Sirius! You killed Moony. If it weren't for you, he'd be coming back in the morning. Was it worth it? Is it worth losing Moony, just to know that you've fucked up Snape's life? And what did he do? _What did he do_ that would make you put Moony's life on the line just to get back at him?'

'I…' Black faltered in the face of three pairs of accusing eyes. Lily thought it stupid of him not to have prepared his defence beforehand. He must surely have known that to step into the Gryffindor common room would be to face a grieving inquisition. 'I never meant to hurt Moony, Prongs, you have to believe me!' His appeal failed to change the stony expression on James' face. 'I wasn't thinking! If I'd been thinking properly, I'd never have done it! I didn't think that bloody Snivellus would actually _go_!'

It was a poor excuse, and it fell flat the second James Potter opened his mouth. 'You taunted a _Slytherin_ about a secret involving Dark magic and expected him not to rise to the bait? They're not _cowardly_, you know. And of all the people in the world to find out about Moony, would you want it to be Snape? He'd never have kept quiet about it. Except now it doesn't matter whether he was going to tell everyone, because Moony's dead! Dead because of _you_, and all you can do is stand there and say _I didn't mean to_! You're pathetic, Black.'

'Prongs…'

'You have no right to call me that any more!' Black winced as if James' words had cut him to the heart. 'You… I've known you five _years_. I thought you were different from the rest of your family. My parents _loved_ Remus, did you know that? My parents, the people who took you in when your bastard pureblood family threw you out, loved Remus, who you just _killed_.' James' voice hitched, emotion overcoming him.

Black's voice came seemed to come from a long way away. 'I loved him, too,' he said, infinite sadness and regret in his eyes.

James smiled, bitterly; it was a smile that didn't reach his eyes. 'Then how could you, Sirius? Knowing what it would mean for him if Snape so much as saw a _whisker _of a werewolf, how could you do it?'

'Does hate mean that much more to you than love?' This question was Peter's, the smaller boy finally daring to say something, have some input in this conflict of his two great idols. It was a pertinent question, Lily thought, surprised that it had occurred to Peter to ask it. Black transferred his gaze to the round-faced Marauder, and his eyes clouded over with tears. He had just managed to keep his composure in the face of James' cold fury, but to look at Peter and see terrible grief and disappointment was too much for him.

'No! I was mad, I was stupid, I should never have done it!' Black was crying as he croaked the words. 'But Snape – it was a moment of madness, the bloody slime ball… I had to _make him pay_.' There was something frightening about the glow in Black's eyes. 'I never imagined this would happen. I thought he'd just get a bit of a scare, that's all. I never thought that it would all end with Moony _destroyed_.' The last word was said in a whisper. James' composure cracked completely and he burst again into helpless tears.

Lily looked at all three of them and thought that it was a sad day for Gryffindor. If she had ever been asked, she would have said that the school would be a better place without the creative input of the Marauders, but now that they really were over, finished, shattered into pieces by one terrible, thoughtless act, she thought that nothing would ever be the same. She wondered if the sun would rise so brightly in the morning when Remus would not be there to see it.

'What's going to happen to you?' she asked, and Black turned his gaze to her for the first time. Maybe he hadn't even realised that she was there.

He laughed, hollowly. 'What do you think?' His voice was empty, devoid of all hope. Lily realised that all the blame that James and Peter could heap on his head was nothing compared to the great expanse of guilt he already felt. 'What else could Dumbledore do? He had to contact the Ministry. I'm expelled. I'm lucky not to have been arrested.' He looked at James and Peter. 'I know I'm lucky. I deserve to be strung up. If I had the rope, I'd give it to you.'

Peter jutted his chin out and met Black's eyes for the first time. 'And I wouldn't do it,' he said, quietly. 'I couldn't kill a friend.' Black let out a wracking sob at those softly-spoken, damning words.

'Nor I,' said James, suddenly. 'I thought I'd want to kill you when I saw you, Sirius, but all I feel is sad.' He stared at the hearth rug for a moment. 'If you're going then go,' he declared. 'But don't think you're welcome in my house any more. You were like my brother, once, but I don't think any Potter would've done what you did.' Black only nodded, not fighting or protesting, possibly because he knew it would be futile, or perhaps because he was too lost in his self-loathing to care.

He turned his eyes to Peter. The plump boy turned his face away, his lack of words more dismissive than any scathing comment. And then Black looked straight at Lily, and she sucked in her breath sharply to see the sheer suffering writ in that gaze. A mixture of pain and pleading cut through her, drawing more tears from the corners of her eyes. She honestly believed that Black hadn't meant to hurt his friend. But that didn't change the fact that Remus was dead. Whatever Black said or did, however he felt, none of it would bring the quiet, studious werewolf back to life.

It was with regret that she said, 'I don't know what you want me to say. What you have done isn't for me to forgive.' He nodded once and then moved past them all and up the stairs to the dormitories. Lily felt cold inside. She had never refused to forgive anyone before. But then she remembered the terrible state that James and Peter were in. Remembered one boy who was dead and another whose life had been stolen from him. And with those things in mind, she thought that had she forgiven Black she would never have been able to live with herself.


	3. Chapter 2: Nowhere Fast

_Author's Notes: This chapter is Severus' POV, as if you could miss that. I found this chapter interesting to write, trying to balance Slytherin reticence and reserve with Severus' natural grief, anger and horror at his new situation. In dealing with lycanthropy many people have distinguished between the 'human' and 'wolf' parts of the werewolf. I'm not sure if this is how infection actually proceeds in the WW, but Severus' unfortunate dichotomy won't last long; the two halves eventually either fuse or send the werewolf in question mad._

_Review Responses: LaLuneNoir: Thanks for liking the Lily POV. That's partly why I did it, you know. If I'd been James I don't think I'd have been good enough to express those emotions convincingly. And Gryffindors do wear their hearts on their sleeves, so there's no problem with being able to see what they're feeling._

_Morvana Du'Miruvor: I suppose it might be a bit unrealistic. As for awkward… it's a bit of an awkward situation. And in this situation I'd either throw burning logs or sit there all icy-cold as James does. But throwing burning logs would've been even more melodramatic, I think._

_Gcjessica1989: Thanks! I know it's a bit sad, and I'd love to say it gets less so, but I don't really like lying. This is going to be pretty angsty for at least the next five chapters._

_Tammy: I felt a bit burnt out after writing that. I found the emotions really tore at me, so I can only imagine what it was like not knowing what was coming next. This chapter wasn't quite so wearing, though; I cope better with Slytherins, they're better at keeping it all inside and not having shouting matches/nervous breakdowns in front of all and sundry._

_Duj: Agreed! You summarised quite a few reasons why I started writing this story in the first place._

_Growlithe: Ah, my lovely stalker! Here's your new chapter, I hope you enjoy it!_

_WatchingAndWaiting: I'm flattered that you felt you had to review. I must be doing something right! Your praise means a lot, so thanks!_

_Melissa Jooty: I'm glad I got Sirius IC. I was trying to make him seem human, but at the same time thoughtless and reprehensible. Pettigrew's not evil in this story. And yes, Snape is the victim in this, but don't tell him that, I think he wouldn't like to hear it!_

_The chapter title is taken from a song by The Smiths of the same name. It was chosen for the lyrics: _

"_And when I'm lying in my bed_

_I think about life_

_and I think about death_

_and neither one particularly appeals to me._

_And if the day came when I felt a_

_natural emotion_

_I'd get such a shock I'd probably lie_

_in the middle of the street and die_

_I'd lie down and die."_

_**-**_

_**---**_

_**-**_

_**Chapter Two**_

_**Nowhere Fast**_

For Severus, regaining consciousness was like climbing through a tidal wave of fire and pain. Comforting, cool blackness was stripped cruelly away from him as he woke, replaced by the stark, harsh knowledge of the truth. The memory of the curse very nearly succeeded in distracting him from the mass of agony that was his left leg, battered and broken, ruined beyond the capabilities of medical magic to fix it. But it was all one, the mental and physical pain. It all had one root, and that root was a single brutal sentence: _I am a werewolf now_.

Tears prickled the edges of his eyes, but he blinked them back angrily. He _would not cry_. No, his life had been ruined, his every ambition smashed, by this scheme of Black's, but he would not show it. That was one of the key tenets of Slytherin House: _never let the enemy see that he's hurt you._ Although in this case, he didn't doubt that the news of his fate had been spread around the school. Everyone would know what had been done to him. Worse, everyone would know what he was – would know that he was a _beast_, a slavering beast – and would hate him more than ever for it.

Would they even let him stay? All this attack had proved was that it _wasn't safe_ to have werewolves at a boarding school. He might not be allowed to stay at Hogwarts. He might be sent home to live with his parents _forever_. He shivered. The one thing worse than becoming a werewolf at all would be to live with his parents, his father fearing him as an unnatural thing and his mother giving up her already feeble attempts to defend him. She was a pureblood witch, and Severus _knew_ purebloods; he'd spent his life watching them, wanting to be one of them, hoping for their acceptance. A pureblood would never defend a werewolf; the pure did not trouble themselves with the tainted, son or no son.

And yet he could not blame her, could not blame any of his classmates for the repulsion they would surely feel. He could not blame them for fearing him because he was afraid of himself. He remembered the terror that had gripped him when he had been chased by the beast. And now he was a beast himself. Now _he_ would be the pursuer, the monster running down a terrified child, teeth bared, maddened by the scent of warm blood in his nostrils.

He shut his eyes; the images that flashed before them were simply too vivid. He had imagined hurting people before, not just Potter and Black, but his father, his fellow students – anyone who beat him in any way. But he had never imagined the smell of blood in his enemy's veins, never imagined ripping anyone, however hated, apart with his teeth. That was not him; that was the wolf that now lived within him. He was a monster now. He could not forget that. He would not be allowed to forget that.

The nurse entered the hospital wing, and Severus thought that she hesitated when she saw that he was awake. It could have been paranoia, because the next moment she had hastened to his bedside, saying, 'So you're awake. We'd been so worried about you, child, ever since Mr Potter brought you in last night, fairly soaked in blood.' He offered her a weak smile; she wasn't treating him any differently. They were allies of old, born of his frequent trips to the infirmary to have the Marauders' hexes removed. She was his one staunch defender among the authorities in the school, and he was glad that she did not turn away from him now.

'What's going to happen to me?' It was a self-centred question, but a fair one. And who expects a Slytherin to be anything other than self-centred anyway?

She turned kind, sad eyes towards him, and he was reminded that she was used to dealing with _his kind_. She had dealt with Lupin these last five years. 'You know that you have been cursed?' He nodded, once again trying not to cry. How could he not know? How could he forget that heart-wrenching, soul-deep despair? 'They destroyed Remus Lupin.' There was outrage in her voice and in the lines of her face. Severus almost echoed her sentiments. That Lupin – poor, quiet Lupin who had never done him any harm, save that of never speaking out for him – should have died for Black's stupidity was _wrong_.

'Will they… what will they do to me?' He felt fear rising again. He thought he could stand a lifetime of being shunned by everyone he met – after all, it was only a little different from his experiences at Hogwarts – but to think that they might kill him for something that was not his fault frightened him beyond belief. He would live as a monster, since that was what he had to do, but he _did not want to die._

Her composure deserted her entirely. 'I don't know,' she confessed. 'Albus wouldn't let the Ministry executioner anywhere near you. He said that he had to let them take Remus, but you… you are the _victim_ here. He didn't want you punished. He's trying to get them to allow you to stay at Hogwarts, but…' She sighed deeply and looked sad. 'I fear that his influence is not what it was. He had to fight tooth and claw to get Remus accepted into the school, and now that _this_ has happened, they might not trust his judgement a second time.'

Severus stared. 'Is Dumbledore still Headmaster?'

She snorted. 'Of course he is,' she said. 'The Ministry agree that he did everything in his power last night. He made a mistake in trusting Sirius Black, but the boy has been suitably punished. We all make mistakes, child, though not all of them are as costly as this one.' She put out a cool hand and stroked his forehead. 'It's cost Albus his reputation for omnipotence, though, I'll grant you that. Now that everyone knows that Albus Dumbledore makes mistakes…' She shrugged. 'Maybe his influence on the Ministry and the country as a whole will diminish. And maybe that's not such a bad thing.'

Severus smiled grimly. No, that would not be a bad thing. He did not like Dumbledore much; the man obviously distrusted his Slytherins and favoured the Marauders, though even a blind man must see that they were bullies of the worst kind. It seemed that the old saying was true: _there are none so blind as those who refuse to see._ Now that Dumbledore's eyes had finally been opened for him, now that he had been left in no doubt as to what his Gryffindor golden boys, his foundling Black, were capable of – maybe _now_ the Headmaster would accept that he was not always right.

'Black was punished?' He didn't know why his mind seized on that idea; only that he had a burning desire to know that the one who had done this thing to him was suffering for it.

'Expelled,' the nurse said, immediately. She looked strangely satisfied with this outcome; like him, she knew exactly what Black was, and it was not the precious white-sheep Gryffindor that everyone else thought they knew. 'As if they could do anything else after what he did to you and Remus,' she added. 'They could've arrested him, but I think that being sent home to his mother is punishment enough for him.' And it would be, Severus reflected. The Black matriarch was everything her wayward son was fool enough to hate.

The nurse bustled around him for a few moments, checking him over, making noises over the leg wound. 'There's nothing I can do for it,' she said, apologetically, although Severus had known for years that magic could do nothing against the bite of a werewolf. 'It might fix itself, given time. But you'll always limp.' She attempted to smile. 'You ought to cultivate the wounded hero image.' He half-smiled himself, more at the thought that _he _could ever be a hero than anything else.

As she was about to leave again, she said, 'A friend of yours came by just before breakfast, but I told him you weren't awake.' He looked enquiringly at her. 'He _did_ leave his name… Thomas something-or-other. Told me to tell you he'd be back this evening.'

Severus felt slightly amazed. 'Avery?' he ventured, afraid that he was dreaming. What would his old companion want with him now that he was a cursed monster? Why would Thomas Avery, seventh year, famed and feared throughout Slytherin for his father's close connections with the rising Dark Lord, still want to have anything to do with him?

'Aye, that was it,' she confirmed. 'Avery. He wanted to know what had happened to you.'

'Did you tell him?' Severus' amazed elation faded rapidly into resignation. Avery had only come to see him because he did _not_ know that he had been cursed. Once he knew, he would never want to have anything to do with Severus again. The older boy had lowered himself once to befriend a half-blood, but surely he would never choose to remain close to a werewolf, a dangerous half-breed. When he found out, he wouldn't come back. None of his former associates would come back. Either fear or pride would stop them from coming anywhere near him.

He was amazed when Nurse Pomfrey replied, 'Oh, yes, I told him. He seemed very shocked. Worried, even. Said he'd come back when you were awake to talk.' She smiled at his shocked expression. 'What did you expect? That your friends would abandon you?' _Of course_ he had expected that. What else could he think, knowing that he did not have any friends – simply people whose company he enjoyed? _Acquaintances_ might be a better word.

He forced a laugh. 'I suppose you only find out who your friends _are_ in times like this,' he said. 'And it's hard to know what anyone's thinking in Slytherin.' Her smile faded, perhaps at the reminder that her patient was not just a wounded child; he was a _Slytherin_, a potential villain. She seemed more disturbed by this thought than she had been by sharing a room with a werewolf. Even she, his ally, was not immune to the prevailing wisdom that claimed that all Slytherins were evil.

And thinking of himself, Avery, Regulus and Evan, he was not so sure that the prevailing wisdom was wrong.

-

That evening, Severus did indeed have a visitor, but he was disappointed to find that it was not Avery. Instead, a rather shaken and sheepish-looking Regulus Black crept into the infirmary. The fifth year looked abashed, as if it had been he and not his brother who had been responsible for the events of the night before. He seemed to take Severus' irritated glare as blame, rather than simple annoyance that Avery had decided not to come after all. He hadn't expected _anyone_ to visit him before Pomfrey had spoken to him earlier, but to hope and then to have those hopes dashed away was _galling_.

The slender dark boy sat down in the chair beside the bed, his head lowered slightly. It was an odd posture for Regulus; he was a typical Black, usually carrying himself as regally as possible. 'Avery told me what happened this morning,' he said, quietly, unwittingly touching a nerve by mentioning the older boy's name.

Severus scowled. 'Did he send you?' He felt more than a little angry at Avery. Why would he say that he was coming only to send Regulus instead?

'No.' Regulus snorted. 'I decided to come. I do have a mind of my own, you know.' He shrugged, and then continued, 'Avery told me that he intended to come and see you after dinner. Unless his plans have changed drastically since breakfast, I imagine he'll be along soon enough.' Severus' scepticism must have shown on his face, because Regulus said, 'Just because you've been cursed doesn't mean _everyone_ will abandon you.' A reluctant grin flashed across his normally serious face. 'Anyone who associates with you has already got over the fact that you're a half-blood. This won't faze anyone at all. A werewolf is a _Dark_ creature; it's only the bigoted so-called Light wizards who are going to hate you for it.'

'How comforting,' Severus sneered. 'It's not that bad; only slightly more than half of the wizarding world is going to hate me on sight because of…'

'I know, what my brother did,' Regulus broke in, looking apologetic once more. Then his eyes narrowed in anger. 'I'd say I'd kill him for it, but mother wouldn't be best pleased and I suppose you want that satisfaction for yourself.'

Severus smiled, thinly. 'I am more than satisfied with Bla- _Sirius'_ fate. He will become that which he hates – he will have no choice – and that is enough for me.' His pale face was twisted into an unpleasant, vindictive, self-satisfied smile. 'It is, after all, the fate he inflicted upon me.' This last was said more quietly. It was true, though; like most people, he had always hated werewolves, and now he had been cursed himself by his enemy. Never let it be said that Severus Snape has no sense of the ironic.

Regulus smiled wolfishly. 'Then I'm satisfied, too,' he said. 'I had not thought of it like that. Mother will take Sirius in hand. It is… it has always been hard to see him every day and know that he hates me. I am his brother! And yet he would sooner spit on me than speak to me.' There was a sad look in Regulus' eyes, and Severus was annoyed. _This wasn't about him. _Why did he have to make everything about him? 'My brother hates me almost as much as he hates you, and yet I never hated him, until now. Because he's a hypocrite. Because he says that Dark wizards delight in hurting others. And _then_ he does something that was so _obviously_ intended to hurt you.'

This was better, thought Severus. At least Regulus had returned to the issue at hand. 'And you don't hate me?' he asked. 'For causing his fall from grace? Don't you fear and hate me as a werewolf? I always hated werewolves.'

'Hate you?' Regulus laughed, sharply. 'For all that I wouldn't want to run into you after dark at the full moon, no, I don't. And why should I? Werewolves have always been on _our side_, historically.' He smiled, indulgently, which rankled a little with Severus as he was fifteen months older than the impudent Black pup. 'You've obviously been told too many fairy-tales and not enough _real_ werewolf stories. Some of' – he lowered his voice – '_our Lord's _most fervent supporters are werewolves. They are truly a force to be reckoned with, desperate as they are to wreak revenge on the Muggle-lovers who have ruined their lives.'

The reason for Avery's continued interest in him became clear to Severus. 'So _He _will still want me, then?' he asked, lowering his own voice similarly.

Regulus' smile was fiendish and a little unsettling. 'Why wouldn't He?' he asked. 'You're _our kind_, and the Lord's not fool enough to let an ally as powerful as a werewolf slip away. Not everyone will like you or trust you, but how is that any different from how your life was anyway?' It was at this moment that Severus realised that the younger Black boy actually _cared_ about what happened to him; Regulus considered that they were _friends_. Unlike Avery, who would be keener than ever to recruit him for the Dark Lord's service, Regulus had come just to see him. That felt odd, not least because he had always imagined that no one in his House had that much heart.

The thought unsettled him, but he concealed it and summoned a crooked smile. 'Point taken.' It was true enough that most people didn't like him. Most of his housemates held him in contempt for being half-blood, and the rest of the school despised him for being a Slytherin. 'I hope that the do-gooder Gryffindors don't think they have to try and make it up to me,' he added, as the thought struck him. 'Nice as it would be to have my enemies eager to obey my every whim, they annoy me.'

'We'll help you fight off the do-gooders, Severus, don't worry." The low-pitched, cheerful voice came from the doorway. A tall boy leant on the frame, looking at them with vague concern in deep blue eyes. 'They won't get within ten yards of you with their tissue boxes and their pockets full of aconite and silver.' His tone was laced with contempt and his expression carried that sentiment to perfection.

'Avery!' exclaimed Regulus. 'He didn't believe you were going to come.'

The older boy's eyes narrowed. 'Didn't think I'd come?' He looked at Severus sharply. 'You've got me mistaken, Snape; it's _Gryffindors_ that'd drop you like a hot coal for being a werewolf, not us.' He moved over to sit down; Regulus jumped out of the chair quickly to make way for him. Avery was practically leader of Slytherin, and if he wanted anything, any other member of that house would practically fall over themselves to make sure that he could have it.

'So, how're you feeling?' Avery did not sound much as if he cared; more as if he was asking the question for form's sake. But then it had always been hard to tell what Thomas was thinking, Severus remembered. He kept his emotions very close to his chest, as if they were a particularly good hand of poker. 'Do you feel _different_?' It wasn't the most sensitive of questions, but Severus didn't expect anyone around him to have any consideration for his feelings – in fact, he tended to feel more comfortable when they did not.

He considered numerous answers before settling on, 'My leg is painful, but not more than I can stand. Pomfrey can't _do_ anything about it, so I'm stuck with a limp.' That much was easy enough to say. Talking about his lycanthropy, his paranoia, the nightmarish visions of hunting and murder, the fact that he could _smell _his friends' blood – and God, it smelled so _good_ – that would be much harder. 'I'm still adjusting to the werewolf part,' he added, by way of compromise. He hoped that Avery was not interested enough to press further.

'I do hope that Dumbledore and his merry men at the Ministry have no intention of having you _put down_ like some rabid _beast_,' Avery remarked, coolly. 'Because if they try that, my father might get angry with them.' It was said that the Minister had the greatest respect for Avery Senior. If Severus had been in any danger from Ministry executioners, he would have been very grateful for the indirect offer of help.

As it was, he said, 'Dumbledore defended me to the Ministry.' Both Avery and Regulus looked surprised. Severus wondered why. He had not felt surprised; the Headmaster's actions made perfect sense to him. Dumbledore felt _guilty_; Severus had spent enough time observing Gryffindors to know that they had a tendency to blame themselves for everything. This wasn't entirely the Headmaster's fault – it was mostly Black's, after all – but like all good Slytherins, Severus was perfectly prepared to use any advantage this feeling of guilt might give him.

'Makes sense, I suppose,' said Avery, musingly, after a moment. 'He's lost his pet werewolf, and maybe he thinks if he's nice to you he can get a replacement. Well, he can't! He won't have you. You're one of _us_. Maybe he thinks that by getting them to spare you he can convince you that you owe him something, but he's wrong. _He _owes _you_. if it wasn't for him, you'd never have been in danger. What sort of idiot Headmaster allows a werewolf into his school?'

Severus winced. Did that mean that Dumbledore would be a fool to let him stay? Did that mean that Avery was expecting him to be removed? 'I'm hoping he'll allow _me_ to remain at the school,' he hazarded, watching the older boy's face to see if he gave anything away. But there was no sign on that expressionless mask to show that Avery was even _listening_, let alone what he felt about what he had heard.

'I think it's out of Dumbledore's hands now,' he remarked, coolly. 'I think it'll be up to the Ministry now, whether they let you stay here, collared and locked away like a good, _tame_ wolf, or whether they send you back to your parents, so they can deal with you as best they can.'

Severus smiled a bitter, mirthless smile. 'They'd probably lock me in the garden shed for the rest of my life,' he hissed, before he could stop himself. He cursed himself mentally. He did not like to share the horrors of his childhood with _anyone_. They were his burdens to carry, and his alone. To reveal his past would be to show his weaknesses. And he had just opened his mouth unthinkingly, possibly betraying himself to Avery and Regulus. He was sure that he had never had trouble reining in his emotions and his words before. Was this another gift from the wolf?

'They wouldn't _dare_,' said Regulus, definitely. Severus looked at him, sceptically. He knew his parents much better than anyone else; he'd be lucky to _survive _his next meeting with his father, once the man knew what he had become.

Avery nodded. 'No filthy _Muggle_ or blood-traitor will lay a hand on anyone under the protection of an Avery, Severus; you can count upon _that_.' His voice rang with the pride that was always a part of him. Even knowing how Dark Lords were wont to work, Severus found it hard to imagine Avery bowing down before one. He and his family were proud and unbending. They seldom extended their patronage to anyone, and yet that was what Avery was doing here. That was what his last declaration had amounted to. Severus didn't know whether he ought to be grateful that he was thought worthy or angry that he was thought in need of protection.

'They're still my parents, Avery,' he said, mildly. Not that he cared at all for them, but no Slytherin allowed anyone to speak ill of family. 'But it's nice to know I'm not abandoned. _I _would've abandoned me, you know.'

A thin, knowing smile crept over Avery's face. 'Perhaps,' he said. 'But you always sell yourself short, Severus. You'll see. You're powerful. People from both sides will be beating a path to your door, werewolf or no. Promise me you won't do anything stupid.' _Promise me you won't believe those Light liars._ The words hung unspoken in the air between them. Severus nodded, amused. He'd never been treated with anything other than contempt by Light wizards since he'd arrived at school. He was no traitor.

Pomfrey put her head around the door. 'Time's up, Mr. Black, Mr. Avery,' she called, softly. Severus shot her a grateful smile; he knew as well as she did that Regulus and Avery had been allowed to stay much longer than they ought to have been. The nurse smiled back and winked when she was certain that the other two were not watching. It wouldn't do for them to _realise _that she was unduly favouring him, or, like all good Slytherins, they would want to know why. And he didn't want them to ask. They did not know the full extent of his suffering at the hands of the Marauders, and he had no wish for them to find out.

Avery stood up immediately and left, but Regulus lingered for a moment, awkwardly. He said, 'It's alright, Severus. We'll be back for you.' And though Severus rolled his eyes, he couldn't help but be pleased by their attentions, however selfish their motivations might be. It was good to be able to think that there was even a _possibility_ that his life might not have been completely ruined. Regulus smiled tentatively and then followed after Avery. Severus watched him go. Something within him stirred, seeing _prey_ with its back turned, wanting to dig teeth deep into the retreating boy's hamstrings.

He shook his head violently. He was frightened again. How had Lupin ever survived in Gryffindor if his underlying nature was a murderous predatory _animal_? He ground his teeth, trying to suppress the urge to _bite_ something. His earlier optimism seemed misplaced, horribly misplaced, contradicted by the reality of his situation. He'd had a conversation with his old… friends like a normal human being, but the fact remained that he _wasn't human any more._

He whimpered slightly at the thought. He tried to curl in on himself but was prevented from doing so by his ravaged leg, pain leaping from his calf and running all the way up his leg, twisting into his stomach and chest. He didn't dare close his eyes; what lay behind them was a blood-red haze that made him feel uncomfortable, not least because it _appealed_ to some vicious, wolf-like part of him. Was this just the pain of the transformation, or was he cursed to be like this forever, to be haunted by visions of blood and to be driven mad by the delicious smell of the people around him?

Again tears pressed at the corners of his eyes and this time he let them fall. There was no one to see them, and for once he simply didn't care. He _was_ being restrained; anyone else would have been having a complete breakdown. With the pain of loss, the fear for the future and the triumphant howling of the wolf inside his head, a lesser man would have been screaming. A lone tear landed on his pillow, reminding him of tears cried when he was much younger, the first time that Potter and Black attacked him and he discovered what the world was like. He snarled through his tears. _They will regret everything they did to me_. Had he thought that, or was it the wolf? Was this really all because of this disease he had been curse with, or had he always been so _beastly_? He sank his head into his pillow. _This isn't me!_ he thought, viciously. _Or is it? Is it, really?_


	4. Chapter 3: Alkaloid Poisoning

_Author's Notes: Back to Lily's POV. I'm sure that this chapter was originally meant to be more than just a Potions lesson and a trip to the hospital wing. Yes, here we have the first Lily/Severus interaction. It's not much, so don't get too excited or anything. This chapter eluded me for the longest time, which is why I haven't updated recently. Just as a warning: there may be other long gaps in my updates, because I am writing this as I go, so I have no chapters in hand. Don't thank me for updating; you owe this chapter to excessivelyperky, whose review made me determined to work on this. Anything that gets 22 reviews for a prologue and two chapters shouldn't just be summarily abandoned, now, should it?_

_Information: "Aconite" actually refers to a whole family of plants, all of which contain the alkaloid poison _Aconitine_. It poisons the motor neurones and causes death by respiratory paralysis. Pharmacological antidotes include digitalin (from foxgloves), atropine, alcohol and strychnine. I'm a chemist; I try to put real things in my potions! I obviously don't know what colour Re'em blood is – I made that up. If you're interested, I put that in to give "strength" to the truth._

_The name "Verbatim sapienti" comes from the Latin proverb "verbatim sapienti satis est" – or 'a word is enough for the wise'._

_Review Responses: excessivelyperky: Thanks for reminding me why I was writing this! And if you liked seeing his Slytherin 'friends' supporting him, I'm afraid this chapter may disappoint you._

_orphen chica: Is this soon enough? I'm sorry about the delay!_

_Tammy: Oh, I don't think I'd call him 'popular'. Wait and see what happens in this chapter!_

_Melissa Jooty: I have trouble with seeing Slytherin as a particularly loyal house, and I think loyalty to Severus, who's a half-blood werewolf, might be pretty limited. I suppose he'll blame Lupin later, but the thing is, Lupin's _dead_, and Severus is having much too good a time blaming Sirius and Dumbledore. Oh, and I love the gift-wrapping analogy. Do you think our dear wolf is going to go Dark, then?_

_Duj: I find your opinions interesting. No, canon Lupin hasn't got much integrity, but I'm not sure that's such a Gryffindor attribute. It's easy to be brave without necessarily being honourable. I'm not honestly sure what kind of werewolf Severus is going to be yet. The psychological symptoms he's showing are just the effects of his infection – they'll pass, eventually, and he'll only be really wolfish at the full moon._

_-_

_---_

_-_

_**Chapter Three**_

_**Alkaloid Poisoning**_

A black cloud hung over Gryffindor tower for many days. It was said that James Potter had eaten very little since the fateful night of the full moon, and that Peter Pettigrew was apt to burst into tears in the middle of classes for little or no reason. Lily had not known Remus Lupin very well, but she had been there on that night, and she had seen the two remaining Marauders judge their friend for his foolish recklessness. She had seen James Potter fall apart, and she had heard the cry as a classmate was slaughtered as an animal. It was little wonder that she felt so _empty_ inside; hardly surprising that she should have to hold back tears whenever her eyes fell on Lupin's deserted chair.

She was almost relieved to get to her Potions class. She was the only Gryffindor from her year who took the subject, so she was not faced with the absence of Lupin and Black, or the tragic, frozen presence of James and Peter. The only reminder of the terrible occurrence of the last full moon was an empty seat at the back of the room, where Severus Snape usually sat. Lily made sure to keep her eyes facing Professor Slughorn and the front of the classroom. She liked Potions; she didn't want to be distracted from her lesson by brooding about the Slytherin werewolf.

At any other time, it would have been a good lesson. Slughorn lectured on truth serums; he was an interesting teacher, and his knowledge was second to none. Lily did notice that his eyes were occasionally drawn to Snape's unoccupied seat. The Slytherin was his favourite student, and with good reason; he was better than anyone else in the school at Potions, and probably could've taken his N.E.W.T. already. Whether he would ever be allowed to take that exam at all was doubtful now. Lily shook her head and tried to concentrate on Slughorn's words. Her feather quill moved swiftly over a roll of parchment, taking copious, neat notes. Truth serums were going to come up on the end-of-year exams, she just knew it.

'Now, Veritaserum, as you all ought to know, takes a full moon cycle to brew.' It was an unfortunate choice of words; Lily couldn't help but think of Lupin and Snape when he said "full moon". The professor didn't seem to realise that he'd said anything wrong. He continued, 'You should be capable of making it by now – you're all competent students – but it takes up too much class time. So we won't be brewing Veritaserum. What we _will_ do is make the potion commonly known as "Veritaserum's poor relation".' When he saw that no one seemed to understand him, he said, 'Surely, you must have heard of _Verbum sapienti,_ 'a word to the wise'?' Still blank faces stared back at him. 'It works rather like the more powerful serum, except that the questioner must have some idea of what he is looking for. With Veritaserum, you can ask any question, and discover anything you care to discover. _Verbum sapienti_ can only tell you what you already know – or suspect. It's used by Aurors, to confirm or deny charges. That's why the vast majority of people who are tried are guilty.'

The teacher turned around and began to chalk instructions up on the board behind him. Once that was done, he turned back to the gossiping class – most of whom knew _someone_ who had definitely been 'imprisoned falsely', and clapped his hands. 'Enough!' he said, lightly. 'You will require a Number 4 brass cauldron – you will find them at the back of the room.' There was an immediate drift of students towards the pile of cauldrons. Lily took one back to her desk, deliberately _not_ looking at Snape's empty chair. She had just filled the cauldron with a mixture of water, chilled alcohol and shimmering, blue-green Re'em blood, when Slughorn added, 'There's another good reason why _Verbum sapienti_ isn't as widely used outside of the Ministry as Veritaserum is – well, by those who can brew it, anyway. If you do it right, it will be yellow-orange in colour, and it tastes awful. You can't swallow it by mistake!'

Lily shuddered at the thought of being drugged with any sort of truth serum – because surely that was what Slughorn had meant. It was a horrible thought that the most potent truth serum known to wizards was colourless, odourless and tasteless. Rather like arsenic; undetectable but deadly. She went to the store cupboard to get her ingredients and began arranging them in the order in which they would have to go into the potion. She crushed some daisy roots and tossed the resulting powder into the cauldron. Then she reached for the next ingredient. Looking at it, she realised that there was more to this potion than Slughorn had cared to tell them. She raised her left hand, even as her right reached for the knife to dice the delicate stems.

'Miss Evans?' Slughorn beamed at her. She was one of his favoured students.

Lily smiled and lowered her hand, using it to hold the stalks of the monkshood down so that she could chop it more easily. 'Sir, wouldn't this potion be deadly to werewolves?' she asked, perfectly innocently. She was angry inside, though; she wondered if Slughorn had done this on purpose. But _surely_ he wouldn't. The incident at the Shrieking Shack had been on everyone's lips for the past few days, but she didn't think that the Potions professor would deliberately teach them to brew a serum that could be used to poison a lycanthrope.

Slughorn shifted. 'Because of the aconite, yes, I suppose it would be,' he said, uncomfortably. 'Aconite is a deadly poison – an alkaloid – it kills humans as well as werewolves, in surprisingly small quantities. For human consumption, if the dosage guidelines for this potion are followed, it will not kill. The tincture of foxglove tends to cancel out some of the ill effects. But for a werewolf… 'wolfsbane' is a killer. It is illegal to administer this potion to anyone whom you know – or whom you suspect – is a werewolf.'

'Why is that?' A sharp voice drifted out of the shadows. Lily turned. It was Evan Rosier, a sixth year Slytherin who occasionally could be seen sharing books with Snape. 'It's not as if it's a crime to kill a werewolf. I don't see why the Ministry would _care_ that a useful truth serum might be lethal to werewolves.' Rosier's face showed no emotion; he was one of the more heartless of the Slytherin sixth years. Lily didn't know whether he was angry on behalf of his friend at the hypocrisy of the government, or if he simply believed that it wasn't wrong to kill a werewolf. If the latter, it seemed that it was true what they said about Slytherins: _with friends like these, who needs enemies?_

'My dear boy!' Slughorn exclaimed. 'Of course it's illegal to deliberately poison someone if you don't know that they've committed a crime! Werewolves are people, most of the time, and while they don't have many rights, they have the right to live!' He shook his head, as though the conversation was in some way painful to him. Lily wondered if he was actually _fond_ of Snape, although she didn't see how it was possible that anyone could be. 'For serious crimes – any crime punishable by life in Azkaban – Veritaserum can and must be used. _Verbum sapienti_ is normally only used in more minor crimes: burglary, trespass, slander, fraud and sometimes assault. Imagine the uproar if a truth serum killed a werewolf who was accused of nothing worse than breaking and entering!'

Rosier, for his part, looked unimpressed. 'No one would care,' he said, flatly. 'It's not as if it'd be any sort of loss to society, is it? What can a werewolf do? They can't hold most jobs; they can't stand or vote in elections; they have to be locked up on every full moon night. What _use_ are they? Macnair's got the right of it, I think. They ought all to be destroyed.' There was suddenly a very nasty vindictive expression on his face. He was a swarthy boy with twisted, rat-like features and dark eyes that looked almost as malevolent as Snape's. 'Yeah, destroyed like that one last week. Just shows, they might look safe, but they're not. The boy who was bitten ought to be put out of his misery as well.' There was no sign anywhere in Rosier's voice or expression that he was talking about someone who might, conceivably, once have been his friend.

There was a collective intake of breath, and then Emmy, a very straight-backed and conscientious Hufflepuff said, in hushed, shocked tones, 'But – he hasn't _done_ anything! And I thought he was your _friend_.'

The weak reproach was lost on Rosier, who sneered. 'Friend?' he repeated, incredulously, as though he had never heard the word before in his life. 'No respectable pure-blood would _ever_ be friends with a werewolf.' A shadow passed over his face, suddenly, but then he laughed, mirthlessly. 'Not that I expect _Hufflepuffs _and _Gryffindors_ to understand that. No self-respect, any of you.'

And Lily, who was, at heart, loyal enough for the badger house, finally spoke up. 'You can talk about _self-respect_, Rosier,' she said, coldly. 'Given that up until last week you were perfectly happy to copy Snape's work so that you wouldn't have to do your own. And that in two years time you'll be grovelling before You-Know-Who, just like your father does now!'

'That's a lie!' Rosier shouted back, but he was flustered and his eyes were guarded and afraid.

'What, that you copied his work, or that your father's a lackey?' Lily spat back. She was _angry –_ burning with anger. She might not care two Knuts for Snape, but Rosier had said that they had been _right_ to destroy Remus Lupin, and she had liked him well enough. And he had said that he agreed with Macnair about werewolves; who knew what other opinions he might share with the outspoken Ministry executioner? She knew for a fact that the unpleasant axe man believed that all 'half-breeds' should be summarily destroyed, and it was whispered that he included 'Mudbloods' in that list. Someone who insinuated in the middle of a class that she had no right to live deserved any insults she could dish out.

Rosier growled. 'My father serves _no one_,' he hissed, dark eyes boring into Lily. They carried a barely concealed threat of pain, but Lily was unafraid. For the first time in her life, she was grateful to have James Potter on her side – annoying as he doubtless sometimes could be, he would be more than a match for Rosier if the Slytherin decided to try something. 'And nor will I,' he added, vehemently. 'And _you_ should remember who you're talking to! Little Mudbloods should remember their place!' Instantly the sentence had left his mouth, Rosier sat back as if in horror and clapped a hand over his mouth. There was a collective gasp from the rest of the room, and Lily was stunned. Not that she hadn't been called… _that_ before, but it was the first time she'd heard the word said so openly.

'_Mister_ Rosier!' Slughorn looked appalled. He was decent, for a Slytherin, and Lily didn't think that he'd ever have used such a word himself. 'You do _not_ use such language in my classroom! I am shocked that _anyone_ professing to be well-bred should say such a thing to a lady! You will apologise to Miss Evans right now!' The teacher's voice and manner were completely different from his normal, jovial demeanour. It seemed that it had shaken him to the core to realise that the once-distant war had managed to infiltrate the school and affect its pupils. Under Slughorn's steady gaze, Rosier muttered something that might just about have been construed as an apology. 'And twenty points from Slytherin, for allowing your temper to get the better of you.'

It seemed as if the whole class were immobilised. No one had moved since the terrible word had left Rosier's lips. Lily noticed that the monkshood stems that she had been slicing looked a bit battered; evidently she'd been a bit heavy-handed with the knife. She added them to the potion anyway, and it turned pale green almost at once. According to the instructions on the board, she had done everything right so far. She began preparing the rest of the ingredients, thinking idly that it was a shame that the potion she was making couldn't be 'accidentally' ingested. She'd have liked to find out if Rosier was, in fact, intending to follow in his father's footsteps, though his panic at the accusation made her pretty sure that he was.

Forty minutes later, she had a pale orange solution in her cauldron, bubbling and emitting rather unpleasant fumes. She moved it off the flame just as Slughorn bore down on her, his usual beaming smile returned. 'An admirable job, Miss Evans,' he said, enthusiastically. He lowered his voice. 'I see that the opinions of the more outspoken members of my House do not upset your brewing.' She inclined her head, intent on filling a vial with the liquid for submission. 'I know that it's hard for you, with what happened to your friend, which is why I didn't take any points from you. But, dear girl, you must remember that I expect better from the members of my little club. I never thought I'd see the day when you'd speak out of turn in class!'

Lily gritted her teeth. 'I wouldn't,' she said, calmly. 'But he insulted Remus. He said that Remus _deserved_ to die.' She placed the completed vial of potion on the desk in front of her, and Slughorn picked it up and pocketed it. She waved her wand over the rest of the cauldron. '_Evanesco_.' She looked up at the teacher. 'Is that all, professor? I'm sorry I lost my temper.' _But I won't apologise to Rosier_, she added silently. _I won't, so don't bother asking me._

'That's quite all right,' Slughorn said, waving a hand magnanimously. 'It's not been the best week, so I'll let it slide. I'm sure Rosier didn't mean half of what he said, either.' He smiled in an irritatingly indulgent way. Lily normally quite liked Slughorn, even though he was the Head of House for Slytherin. He was very good to her and to the other members of his club, and although, like all Slytherins, he wanted something in return, at least with Slughorn it was something simple and harmless – reflected glory. But now, in the aftermath of disaster, she found that he annoyed her. _Of course_ Rosier had meant it when he called her 'Mudblood'. How Slughorn could pretend otherwise was beyond her.

Then he said something quite surprising. 'I suppose it's as well that your friend wasn't here for this lesson, given the circumstances,' he said, uncomfortably. 'I wonder – yes, I wonder how Lupin managed to brew potions all these years without someone noticing that he came out in a rash every time he brewed a potion with aconite.' Lily was quite stunned for a moment. Slughorn had said 'your friend' and 'Lupin' as though they were two different people! And then it dawned on her. He meant _Snape_. She was fairly sure that she had never said anything to give the impression that Snape was her friend, but possibly he had simply assumed that since they were both members of his club, they must like each other. She recalled exchanging civilities with the dark Slytherin boy, but she also remembered black eyes burning in hatred as the tainted word 'Mudblood' slipped so easily from his tongue.

But by then Slughorn had moved away, and she couldn't argue with him about his assumptions. She wasn't sure that she wanted to. True, she didn't like Snape. But his friends were turning against him for something that was beyond his control, and she felt _sorry _for him. She knew the boy well enough to know that he would despise both her and her pity, but she couldn't help but feel it. It was unfair. Life was unfair. Whatever Snape had done in the past, he did not deserve a cursed half-life. And if he had been Dark before, that would be _nothing_ to what he would be now, when he had a good reason to hate the Ministry, the Light, and anyone and everyone who might try to help him.

Leaving the classroom, an idea took root in her mind. Snape was a potions genius, although he had a disturbing, slightly fanatic interest in the Dark Arts. He would not like to get too far behind in his studies, she thought, so she could make use of their slight acquaintance to take him a copy of the lesson notes. It might serve to reassure him that there was, at least, one person whose opinion of him hadn't changed. It would show him that she still saw him as just another classmate, just her long-term Potions rival. Slughorn had often told Lily Evans that she would have made a fine Slytherin, and she had never believed him. But it was true – she had a good, scheming mind, even if her schemes were only ever used to help people. Why should cunning only ever be employed for bad ends?

She had a free lesson and an idea in her head, so she went at once to carry it out. Just outside the door to the infirmary, she removed a roll of parchment from her bag and placed it underneath her Potions notes. Then she muttered a quick copying spell and placed her own notes back into the bag. Running her eyes over the copied notes, she checked that everything was as it should be, and then pushed open the door into the hospital wing. The nurse, Pomfrey, stood up as she entered and bustled over. Lily was strongly reminded of a mother hen.

'Now, Miss Evans, I can't have people disturbing my patients,' she said, sternly. She lowered her voice. 'And if you've come to stare at that poor boy, I shall send you on your way. You should go quickly, too, lest I take points!'

Lily held up the roll of parchment. 'I only came to bring Snape a copy of the Potions notes,' she said, calmly. 'I know he won't want to be behind when he gets back to classes. And Potions is his best subject.' The nurse's face softened slightly, as though realising that here was another person who did not see Snape as either a curiosity to be gawped at or a monster to be despised. 'Can I just have, say, five minutes? I won't disturb him or anything.' She put on her best innocent face, and prayed that Pomfrey would remember how careful and conscientious she had always been.

It seemed that the prayer was answered, because the nurse smiled and said, 'Fine, but only a few minutes, mind. He's not had very many visitors, so I don't suppose having one now would upset him too much.' Lily felt a painful stab of empathy, thinking of Snape lying alone in a hospital bed, alone with the memories and the terrible thoughts of what his new future would bring. She nodded to Pomfrey, smiling politely, and then stepped forward into the hospital wing. She hadn't been there very often. She was careful, and didn't get into fights, so it was almost a new experience to be walking among the beds of the infirmary and looking around at the shelves full of potions.

Snape was in one of the last beds in the line, his eyes closed as though asleep. He obviously wasn't, though, because Lily was not within ten yards of him when he said, snidely, 'I knew it was only a matter of time.' She didn't stop her approach; it would take more than his hostility to scare her away. She was a Gryffindor, after all. 'Simply can't resist an opportunity to come and gloat at fallen enemies, can you?'

'Open your eyes,' Lily said, in a perfectly neutral tone. 'Since when have I ever gloated about anything? And you can hardly talk about gloating, considering that when you beat me in the end of year tests in fourth year you wouldn't shut up about it for two weeks.' Snape's eyes snapped open, and he frowned at her, as if trying to decide if she was real or not. 'See, I brought you the notes from Potions. I didn't think you'd want to get behind.'

'Ah,' he said, in a tone that was scarcely more pleasant than the previous one. 'So you've come to play the ministering angel, have you?'

Lily shrugged. 'You can't have it both ways, you know,' she said, with a brightness she didn't feel. 'Either we Gryffindors can be self-righteous fools who like to give help where it's not wanted, _or_ we can be hypocrites who come to spit on our enemies when they're down, but we can't be _both_.'

Almost in spite of himself, he snorted, and the dark despair in his eyes lightened somewhat. 'Can't you?' he asked, dryly. '_You're_ a self-righteous fool, and Black's a hypocrite. There's a neat enough counterexample for you, Evans.' He looked almost amused. 'You said something about Potions notes,' he prompted, eyes flicking to the rolled parchment in her hands.

'Yes, I did,' she confirmed, and passed the roll across to him. He opened it and raised an eyebrow. 'We brewed _Verbatim sapienti_ for assessment.'

'I suppose it's as well I wasn't there,' Snape said, darkly. 'The moon's influence is still strong, for some reason. If I touched wolfsbane, anything might happen.' He looked at his own lean, cadaverous hand, and suggested, 'It could have peeled all my skin off, or something. Slughorn might have had something to say about that.' His eyes went back to Lily's neat handwriting. 'I wonder if werewolf skin is a valuable Potions ingredient. It'd have been funny to watch him scrabble around trying to pick it up for his store cupboard.'

Lily was surprised. Despite his admittedly morbid humour, Snape was being… _bearable_. 'I doubt it,' she said. She wondered about the wisdom of what she was about to say, but her sense of decency urged her onwards. 'There was – well, some words were said on the matter in class.' Snape lifted his eyes to meet hers, frowning slightly. He had very dark eyes, black like a tunnel without a light at the end of it. They were currently fixed quite attentively on her. Had he decided to be pleasant to her because now he, too, was a "half-breed"? 'Apparently, Evan Rosier believes that all werewolves should be destroyed.'

She watched to see if these words had any effect on Snape. They did; he flinched. But when he spoke, he said, distantly, 'I'm not surprised, really. I expected this sort of thing to happen.' He shrugged. 'Most people are scared of werewolves. Out of everyone I knew before, only Regulus is _really_ on my side.' He almost smiled, bitterly. 'There are other people, but they just want to recruit me for one side or the other as a killing machine.' Suddenly he looked startled and a little afraid. 'I didn't mean to tell you any of this,' he said, accusingly. 'Did someone send you in here to get my secrets or something?' She shook her head, bewildered, but he didn't quite relax. 'It was good of you to bring the notes,' he added. 'Don't think I'm grateful or anything.'

The words were said almost spitefully, but somehow they lacked Snape's usual sting. She smirked. 'I didn't expect you to be,' she said. 'Whoever heard of a _Slytherin_ being grateful for anything?'

She swung around and stalked away as though indignant, leaving the copy of her notes with Snape. As she reached the door, she heard him calling after her, 'You might want to work a bit on that smirk, Evans.' She shook her head without turning around, smiled at Madam Pomfrey, and left. She walked off down towards the Hall for lunch, thinking both about the Potions lesson and the cursed Slytherin. She had two questions circling around in her mind. _Why does Rosier hate werewolves so much?_ And: _was Snape actually being _nice?


End file.
